


Bridges and Balloons

by Inaccessible Rail (strangetales)



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-02
Updated: 2016-10-02
Packaged: 2018-08-19 00:30:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8182015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strangetales/pseuds/Inaccessible%20Rail
Summary: Killian Jones gets nervous in the presence of royalty. Good thing his true love is a princess.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is an incredibly short drabble inspired by a soul-killing, throwaway line of dialogue in season 3 when Killian refers to Emma as his "princess," and I had the sudden, horrifying thought, that if he _ever_ refers to Emma as "his princess" again, I would probably fade away into nothingness, so, that's where this is coming from. Thanks be to [seastarved](http://seastarved.tumblr.com) for yelling about this with me for bit. And inspiring me to write with her own writing because I'm not sure it would've happened otherwise! Feel free to pay me a visit on [Tumblr](http://starlessness.tumblr.com).

Killian Jones is a young cadet in the royal navy when he lays eyes on a princess for the first time.

She is _radiant_ , one of the most beautiful things he has ever seen and for a moment he’s a bit lost for words. And it’s a rather inopportune moment for such a thing, right in the middle of one of his more impassioned speeches intended for rallying the troops. “You’ve always had a way with them, Killian,” Liam had insisted at the inn the evening before. “They listen to you.”

He could never believe his brother when he paid him a compliment, it made his stomach churn uncomfortably and he couldn’t help but tug nervously at his cravat. Years later, a good couple hundred years later, a smarter person than he or even his brother is going to dig the reason out of him. And he’s going to have to stare at the emotional equivalent of his guts in his hand and hanging off his hook and think about how deeply he had _loathed_ himself and for _how long_. She had held him for a fairly long time after the fact, arms tight around the tops of his arms, forehead resting against his collarbone and he has to try very, very hard not to hate himself even more when he hears the soft sniffling of her nose, the brief hint of wetness against his skin.

But this first princess, this milestone moment that he hadn’t known was a milestone; she was a brunette. And her brow was set in a melancholy arch, and her lips were only slightly parted, presumably to let air escape, and her dress had the distracting effect of pushing her more… indelicate assets just _slightly_ up. But it was enough. And he secretly hoped that his men were just as distracted by her as he was, because he definitely stumbled over words like “loyalty” and “honor,” and the tip of his boot got caught on a loose plank and _Lord, he would have to fix that._

“Captain Liam Jones,” he heard his brother exclaim, “of The Jewel of the Realm, fastest in the fleet.”

“We’ll see about that, won’t we Captain?” The princess replied, coyly smirking at his brother’s _blush_. Killian had never seen Liam blush before, but there it was, that telltale hint of red appearing against his cheeks. “And who is _this_?”

He felt a pinch at his side and would have very nearly yelped if it hadn’t been for the stern look that had replaced the blush on his brother’s face. “K-killian Jones,” he paused and noted the widening of Liam’s eyes, “Your majesty.”

When she tilted her head to respond, the light of the afternoon sun caught some of the stray hairs floating above her crown and he thought of a deep, rich auburn color, not unlike the mead he had sipped on the night before, and the color of her lips, a bit like the flowers his mother used to grow, a dusky rose. 

“Two Jones’s, how delightful.” She may as well have licked her lips and growled hungrily at them for all her subtlety, but it was then that he noticed something. The slow, gentle twisting of a ring upon her finger, a gold band with a purple stone, and he couldn’t help but notice how easily it slid around her skin. Like she probably laid hands on it all the time, a nervous tick, like the agitated tugging of his own, stifling clothing. Her actions betrayed a deep discomfort, but her words were anything but, and he felt that overpowering sense of awe diminish his own nervousness.

It wasn’t as if she wasn’t still beautiful, she was, and the sun only emphasized her already admirable features. Her power was palpable, she knew she commanded his entire crew, the captain and his young lieutenant, but his appraisal of her had altered slightly. The awe seemed to stem from her ability to persevere instead, to continue on in her duties when maybe she didn’t want to anymore. Had someone she loved given her that ring? Someone that her family had forbade her from marrying? Was she terribly bored? Dismayed? Regardless, she was burdened with a responsibility she would not cast aside, sat lovely and heavy on the top of her head.

“Quite right, your majesty,” he replied, smiling politely, his nerves temporarily waylaid by his wandering thoughts.

“Captain Jones,” she declared, giving a slight nod to one of her handmaidens, “I wouldn’t mind a tour, if you would be so kind.”

“Certainly,” his brother replied, clicking his heels and extending his arm towards the front of the ship.

He can remember following the princess and her retinue for the remainder of their visit, only barely listening to her questions and his brother’s answers, the gossiping of her handmaidens, the silent stoicism of her guards. She had been a sight to behold, there was no doubt in his mind, but it was the small things; the ring on her finger, the seriousness hidden behind the sparkle in her eye, those were the things he would remember in the years ahead.

—

“But I can tell you who does,” he reassured Prince David, “my princess.”

The words fall out of his mouth without his having realized what they mean. At first, he could easily attribute his choice to the reality of their circumstance, the roles they’ve had to play. He’s a prince, she’s a princess. But later, when he’s wiping the tears off her cheeks, he has to stop himself from wondering aloud, because she _is_ a princess. And if he has any say in the matter, she’s going to be _his_ princess, and he can’t help but think about the royal brunette who had stepped foot on his ship all those years ago.

His awe of her, his clumsy words and clumsier steps; the tugging of his cravat. It had always felt too tight, unlike his pirate regalia, his armor split down the middle, chest bared for the world to see or weapon to fall.

Sometimes he wants to kneel at Emma’s feet like his brother had taught him. He wonders if maybe he should have always been calling her “your majesty” and offering her his hand when she steps out of that ridiculous yellow carriage she insists on driving everywhere. Realistically, he knows that he would probably be in for another fine kick to his more vulnerable bits if he did any of those things, but he can’t help it. Like a reflex, even after all these years. _Don’t you know who stands before you?_

“My princess,” he thinks to himself as he watches the wand re-ignite before his very eyes, “Emma.”

And of course, she figures it out, because she always does, and she gets them _home_ , and he can’t believe it, but she’s going to stay, and he’ll refrain from kneeling, but he can’t do much about the way he looks at her, so he’ll just hope she doesn’t notice. For now.

—

A lot of truly nightmarish events occur before he calls her princess again. And their lives are still, technically, vaguely horrific, because she’s lying on a bed of thick rope on the deck of his ship and she seems to be asleep. Very asleep, almost corpse-like, and he tugs at the collar of his shirt, curls his toes within his boots and very much wishes they were half a size bigger.

“Mom,” he hears Henry choke out behind him, and his hand clenches around the handle of his sword.

“It’ll be alright lad,” he says, turning to face Henry’s horrified expression, “She’ll be alright.”

“Kiss her!”

Killian almost jumps, his grip on the sword loosening just enough that it clatters to the deck and he can hear a gull crying out loudly in the distance. Even Henry appeared mildly surprised by his outburst, but it was as if he had only just realized that his mother was under a sleeping curse, _the_ sleeping curse, and her true love was just _standing there_.

“Stand to attention, sailor.” Liam’s dulcet tones in his ear, “Back straight, feet together.”

He feels his spine stiffen imperceptibly, the heels of his feet _just_ meeting, and he nods firmly, once, before approaching Emma’s prone form, lowering himself to the deck on one solid knee. He can recall the way the sun shone on The Jewel all those years ago, but the sun hadn’t been out so much today, it had been overcast most of the morning, and it remained stubbornly hidden behind the clouds of a heavy sky.

Her skin was a little paler than normal, not as preferable to the livelier, rosier shade she usually sported. That morning, cheeks hurting from laughter beneath the warmth of their duvet. Her lips were almost just as pale, no familiar, fairy tale shades of “ruby red” like in Henry’s storybook; if anything, they were slightly chapped, but he loved when her lips were rough. Like calloused fingertips, like they had lived a long, rewarding life pressed up against his. She isn't sporting any bosom-enhancing gown, just the usual jeans, t-shirt, red leather jacket. The most "princess" thing about her, besides the sleeping curse business, is the long, golden hair flowing over her shoulders, lifting gently with the breeze.

When he _finally_ touches his lips to hers, it's cold at first. A chill from the autumn air on the water, and he tastes salt, the briefest hint of apple, and then it washes over him like a wave. The pure, warm love that he had only ever felt at the helm of his ship, and before he realizes what's happened, he can feel blessed movement, her lips pushing and opening _just enough_.

“Killian,” she gasps against his closed lips, her mouth widening into a smile that had already fixed itself so permanently into the deepest corners of his mind that he didn’t even have to open his eyes to know.

He slowly pulls himself away, a twin smirk appearing to match her own, his eyes opening to stare lovingly and disbelievingly back into her vibrant, _alive_ gaze. And maybe it was the magic of the moment (and she'll _definitely_ have a few choice words to say about it later), the sudden flush to her cheeks, the feeling of her soft, blonde tresses knotted between his fingers, but he just _has_ to. 

He extends an empty hand expectantly, and she stares back, one playful, elegant eyebrow lifting. 

“ _Princess_ ," he whispers, "may I be of assistance?"


End file.
